


best friend forever.

by 1roomdisco



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Study, Ferris Wheels, Halloween, M/M, remember i make the creepiest title for my fics? yeah i hope you'll get the chill with this one, this fic was supposed to be lighthearted but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 17:52:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1roomdisco/pseuds/1roomdisco
Summary: in the end, they're all just lonely beings.





	best friend forever.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taekwoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taekwoons/gifts).



> \- written for [day6writersmyth challenge.](https://day6writers.tumblr.com/tagged/day6writersmyth)
> 
> \- wipes sweat.
> 
> \- just a heads up i myself got the chills writing this fic lmaooo.
> 
> \- comments and kudos ALWAYS make my day/evening/night i reply to them all i promise don't ask much, just please take a moment to press kudos and type comments - especially if you have Questions™ so let’s discuss on the comment section.
> 
> \- please enjoy fhkdfjskal.  
>   
>   
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the blood storage room’s heavy door is ajar.

sungjin pauses. he only has an hour max to get a wink of sleep during today’s graveyard shift, and the blood storage room is located across the hall. it’s a _long_ hall. the clock is ticking. why did he have to look up from the linoleum floor anyway? it’s always cold in the basement at 2 AM, he shouldn’t be surprised at all.

still, he had shuddered when he felt a swoosh of cold air hitting his face, and then he looked up.

when he blinks, the light is switched on, switched off, and before he knows it, he’s already speed-walking there, not a hint of lethargy apparent from his clenched jaw. whoever is inside clearly can’t read. the storage room has to be tightly closed at any circumstances, no matter how quick they promise they will be.

the room is _freezing_ even more than usual, and it’s dark.

sungjin frowns as he catches the sharp, coppery scent of blood. which is weird. all the blood bags are securely packaged and sealed. he slips in and closes the door with a soft thud, groping the wall for the light switch.

“hello?” he asks, using his final-year-resident voice just because. he’s on duty together with two giggly interns who care too much about their colored contact lens and not the basic procedures around here.

no response.

(that should have been his first warning sign.)

the smell of blood is getting stronger as sungjin comes closer to the row of shelves containing blood type O. he hears a slight movement, and he feels gooseflesh forming on the back of his neck.

his arms.

(that’s the second.)

and then he’s face to face with a man; his wild, yellow eyes are showing the tiny dots of black pupils, possibly just as surprised and _terrified_ as sungjin—and the red of blood type O he’s drinking is smearing his lips, chin, throat, the dip of his neck, mixing with the hilariously crisp, white shirt he’s wearing.

the man, if he really is one, gasps and wails _i promise i am not interested to make this a habit i just, i, i have not been feeding for_ —but sungjin can only remember the man’s white fangs as he apologizes over and over again in high-pitched voice before sungjin loses consciousness.

 

*

 

the news of sungjin fainting due to exhaustion in front of the blood storage room is spreading like wildfire. for the first time of his career as a resident pediatrician, sungjin willingly sucks up the pitying looks his colleagues are sending him. he even takes the two days off the chief is giving him, no questions asked, and he spends his four accumulative day offs holed up in his apartment, sleeping, eating, googling about vampires.

apparently, vampires are different from dracula. dracula is just a one-man show but vampires, depending on which folklores you’re reading, could be: a) blood-sucking undead human or b) ugly and scary supernatural creatures that can transform into bats, also sucking blood to taunt the living.

what sungjin saw a few days ago was definitely an undead human vampire.

whose high-pitched apologies are still being replayed in sungjin’s mind, no matter how loud is his expensive portable speaker playing the entire red hot chili peppers discography.

jesus christ.

sungjin flings open his comforter, claps once to activate the lamp of his room, and grabs his phone on the nightstand. he types _vampires in south korea_ , and nothing but vampire-themed movies, dramas, and webtoons come up.

he tries another keywords; _are there vampires in south korea?_ and _does south korea have vampire folklore?_ —but to no such luck. he goes to pann and reddit, still nothing.

sungjin dreams of terrified yellow eyes and he wakes up with his chest aching from how irregular his heartbeats are.

the next day, he purchases crosses, plural, that’s right, enough to rival an actual church. he puts them up on every corners of his studio apartment, and he even buys two expensive pure silver crosses that he hangs on a pure silver chain around his neck.

 

*

 

it’s weird, coming back to the hospital after what he experienced without anyone to support his account. everything stays the same, but if sungjin gags a little at the smell of blood when he does morning round, no one is commenting on it.

“since you didn’t let us visit, here,” jaehyung says, gently pushing the most expensive meal from the staff cafeteria. brian is beaming next to him, and jimin, the surgeon prodigy, is massaging his shoulders.

“what’s the catch?” sungjin asks around a mouthful of spicy potato wedges and potato salad.

“aaayy~aaaa-i dunno,” jimin sing-songs in her melodious but dangerous tone, “the two oppas over there thought it’d be good for us to join jackson’s infamous goukon this weekend.”

sungjin chokes.

brian pushes a bottle of water to his hand but sungjin knocks it over, and jimin, laughing, has to assist sungjin drinking it slowly. they’re attracting attention. sungjin knows his whole face is reddening right now.

“way to go, park jimin.” jaehyung clicks his tongue, wiping the table with tissues, shaking his head in faux annoyance because jimin is his secretly favorite dongsaeng.

“shut it, park jaehyung.” jimin makes a zipping gesture with her dainty fingers and they both grin at each other.

“everyone, let’s calm down.” brian, despite the shocking episode, is smiling. “hyung, are you okay?”

sungjin coughs once, twice, then he sighs. he kind of loses his appetite after ‘jackson’s infamous goukon’ part, but he’s hungry and he understands his friends mean well with their bullshit.

“i think i’m gonna pass,” he answers, “not feeling like getting drunk with strangers.”

“it was jae-oppa’s idea.” jimin chirps in, back to massaging sungjin’s shoulders.

jaehyung, the culprit, widens his eyes. “hey!”

“right.” brian pouts, but then he turns serious. “what can we do to help, then?”

sungjin laughs, _loud_ , feeling the tension leaving his body. he reaches out to pinch jimin’s chin as a thank you sign for her to stop and jimin’s smile is always more girl-like after receiving such sweet yet suave gesture from the voted ‘most likely to get married first’ man himself.

“aww, what the heck, that was so sweet of you guys,” sungjin quips. “thank you, but i’ll be fine. jae probably needs it more than anyone on this table.”

“hey! jesus christ,” jaehyung cries out, “ _el niño_ is doing awesome, yeah? don’t mind me.”

jimin snorts, very unladylike, aka how she is everyday when sungjin is not being suave. “how can we not mind when you give your dick a nickname?”

“girl, _language!_ ” jaehyung blushes, and brian, who is jaehyung’s number one not so secret admirer, actually laughs so hard he’s slipping from his chair to the floor.

the first thing sungjin does after lunch break is asking permission from the head of security to watch CCTV tape dated september 27, and the middle aged man questions nothing; he just lets sungjin sit in the surveillance room and leaves him to have a cup of coffee.

on september 27, time stamped 01.59, the heavy door of the blood storage room is opened on its own.

sungjin feels his heart sinking. the twin crosses are heavy on his chest.

 

*

 

life sure is funny because on sungjin’s first night shift after coming back, the heavy door of the blood storage room is ajar.

again.

sungjin’s first instinct is to flight without a fight, but if google couldn’t give him answers, then the vampire itself—himself?—will.

he’s got his twin crosses made of pure silver dangling behind his black, long sleeves t-shirt and blue pororo scrubs anyway.

the clock strikes 3 in the morning.

it’s like a déjà vu; the room is freezing even more than usual and sungjin can hear the vampire sucking the blood straight from the bag. he sounds like he’s drinking refreshing beer after a long, exhausting day, but sungjin is not going to sympathize. he doesn’t bother flicking on the light, opting to take out his phone so he can activate the flashlight mode.

this time, the vampire is busying himself on the row of shelves of blood type AB. great. he picked the rarest one with the least number of bags and sungjin becomes even more determined to, what, confront him? jesus, he hopes he’s doing _it_ right by yelling,

“IN THE NAME OF GOD: FATHER, SON, AND HOLY SPIRIT, I COMMAND YOU TO SURRENDER UNDER THESE CROSS—“

the vampire shrieks, the half-emptied blood bag he’s holding is falling to the floor with a heavy, somehow comedic _plop!_ , and his skin is hissing with actual smoke as he staggers to his knees—only to drop down to his front, unmoving, unconscious, unexpected.

sungjin wonders what went wrong with everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

october is cold.

the hospital is getting festive with the season, and sungjin doesn’t get his _ahjae,_ ahjusshi _,_ for god’s sake—nickname for nothing; he can barely tolerate christmas if it’s not for the big sales everywhere, and he hates halloween with a passion.

celebrating the dead? and those western ghosts, not your loved ones? no, thank you.

everything is decorated in orange and black, and trick-or-treating happens for one month long, jesus christ, if only people are storing fried chicken instead of candies and chocolates sungjin might get excited just a little bit every year.

seriously.

will they—jaehyung and brian’s halloween-loving, north american asses—give a simple korean guy who just befriended a real life—see the pun— _vampire_ last week, a break? they’ve been talking non-stop about which characters to cosplay as, ranging from dubious japanese adult anime characters to boring choices like hogwarts students or marvel heroes. jimin is having her day off today but she participates just as eagerly on their group chat, sending ‘inspirational’ pictures.

“hyung, for the hundredth time, i’m from toronto, _canada_.” brian pouts, but it’s gone as soon as they spot dowoon walking in with his mother.

“dowoonnie!” brian shouts, waving wildly so the teenager notices him. “time for your monthly vincristine?”

dowoon is wearing his favorite grey beanie that he got from a volunteer noona who visited his ward last year. he untangles his white mask to beam at brian, and sungjin notices how jaehyung is exhaling quietly next to him. they watch brian giving endless cheerful encouragement for dowoon and his mother. she looks exhausted, thinner, and sungjin wishes brian understands what kind of heartbreak he’s dealing with.

“sungjin and jaehyung-sonsaengnim,” dowoon says, bowing slightly to the two of them. one of the side-effects from his treatment is muscle pain. he should be using a wheelchair, really.  “how are you?”

jaehyung smiles. it reaches his eyes but he’s not sure what to do with his hands. he’s fumbling; rubbing them on the pants of his blue scrubs and flying them in the air. “i’m good. listen, have you read _‘haikyu!!’_? ma’am, can i lend dowoonnie a comic book?”

dowoon’s mother answer is a diplomatic, “if it’s not troubling you, jaehyung-sonsaengnim.” and she should always be smiling like this, sungjin thinks.

“of course not, ma’am,” jaehyung holds up his thumb, and winks to dowoon. “i’ll stop by later, yeah?”

“i will be in room 303, jae-ssaem.” dowoon answers, clears his throat, and puts his white mask again as he coughs, his frail body is shaking and he’s searching for his mother’s hands and the smile fades from her beautiful face.

“ah, we shouldn’t take more of your time, ma’am,” brian says, apologetic yet not losing the cheer. “let me find a wheelchair for dowoonnie.”

brian assists the yoons to the third floor—the oncology ward—pushing dowoon’s wheelchair and leaving sungjin and jaehyung conversing in silence about what’s bound to happen, not soon, and it might not happen, but still. brian is only on his first year of residency, and it’s already dowoon’s fifth relapse in the past couple of years.

 

*

 

despite his timid take on basic human relations, excusing the fact that he’s a vampire, wonpil keeps on coming back to visit sungjin at the hospital.

[today, he’s wearing a worn by the years leather jacket](https://marks-hyung.tumblr.com/post/165348246509/fuckyeahkimwonpil-everymomentday6), dark grey long sleeved t-shirt, slim-fit ankle length black trousers, and a pair of classic, very expensive, adidas sneakers. he stands out so much sungjin wants to hide him in the morgue, except that he’s had enough of the depressing area of the hospital. besides, apparently, wonpil is the cutest 120 years old undead human to ever exist according to the bunch of dedicated female nurses around who can’t help but to stare and ask so many questions and offer assortments of halloween candies and chocolates for him.

they’re led to believe that wonpil is sungjin’s longtime childhood friend who just moved to seoul from the countryside, hence his ‘eccentric’ way of speaking.

jaehyung and brian beg to differ. they _think_ sungjin is hiding something, and they’re not wrong, so he makes sure wonpil doesn’t visit him when he’s on duty with the two of them; they communicate through one-way pagers, sungjin had a spare and he taught wonpil how to send a message and to always turn it on at lunchtime everyday, just in case wonpil feels like visiting. he explained that wonpil is always welcome to send a message anytime, though he needs to understand that sungjin might not reply when he’s busy and his _vampire-only-pager_ , as he calls it, is nowhere within his reach. wonpil had beamed, excited because he doesn’t own a cellphone—or _a_ friend, if we’re really going there—and he kept his promise to send minimum amount of message to sungjin, just the usual cutesy of _FIGHTING TODAY AT WORK!! YOURS SINCERELY KIM WONPIL._

the reason why wonpil doesn’t own a phone mainly in line with the hassle of needing to input his personal information, address, and the pain of buying monthly plan unless you’re setting up your bank account to directly cut your savings for it—wonpil is actually really smart because he’s not legally registered in any of governmental institution; his identity card is faked, he doesn’t have credit card or ATM, driving license, or a passport. a commuter card is easy to top up with the cash machine anywhere. he doesn’t stay at one place longer than three years, his clothes are coming from the thrift stores where there are minimal lighting and mirrors, and he has cash, apparently more than enough to survive for 120 years.

sungjin asks a lot of questions, and he’s got a hundred more on the note app on his phone.

it’s been ten days ever since. sungjin has stopped wearing his twin pure silver crosses, storing them in his wallet instead. wonpil had looked so touched when he found out that sungjin ditched his one of many kryptonites for his sake. the others include holy water and wooden stake to his useless heart, but it’s not like sungjin is planning to be a vampire hunter anytime soon.

“i thought you would like to have japanese, sungjin-sshi,” is the first thing wonpil says when he’s done greeting the whole floor with his megawatt smile. to think that he only drinks blood to say aliv— _afloat_ , sungjin gets the chill imagining what lies behind wonpil’s cute smile and eternal aegyo.

“hi, and why, yes, what’s in there?”

“i hope you don’t mind tonkatsu.”

alright, sungjin has to admit the free foods are also another reason why he allows wonpil to wander at the hospital with him during breaks. the vampire thinks he owes sungjin for being his blood perpetrator, though of course not without a price; for every blood bag sungjin is smuggling for wonpil, he has to donate a fixed amount of 70,000 won to the hospital’s child with cancer foundation.

wonpil likes the taste of blood type O the most, it’s sweeter, he says, and one blood bag containing 350 ml of blood can sustain his hunger for about fifteen to twenty days.

speaking of feeding, sungjin still has a lot of questions about that particular subject.

they’re heading to the north wing. there’s a hidden nook right by the exit door complete with a set of picnic table and long bench, shaded by the building itself. it’s not that no one ever comes to the north wing, but the staffs prefer to have their lunch in the cafeteria where it’s familiar and cozy and not far from the vending machines.

“i thought the sun can harm you?” sungjin asks after swallowing the overpriced tonkatsu. seriously though, he is not complaining. it tastes _so good._

“not really, no.” wonpil answers, licking his bottom lip. his lip tint is a bit pinker today than the last time he visited sungjin. he’s strikingly pale that his lips are basically blue and white and sungjin had suggested a touch of lip tint and maybe cheek blusher to add more colors to his very, very handsome appearance.

“hmm, so the movies are all lying?” sungjin had felt awkward at first because he was always the only one eating vigorously, but it’s alright now; wonpil doesn’t need to eat at all, his dead palate is no longer functioning anyway.

“perhaps the creators are just catering to what’s in trend,” wonpil answers rather diplomatically, “i personally enjoyed ‘interview with the vampire’. the ending, especially.”

the little comment should alarm sungjin, but nah. wonpil is unlike any other vampire sungjin has encountered through movies and popular culture; the 120 years old undead human doesn’t have a single wicked potential whatsoever. he was the one who wanted to befriend sungjin in the first place, cutely whining that he hasn’t had any real interaction with people aside from his trusted _agent_ , or so he calls them, who’s in charge to make significant change of his identity card; he said it needs to be renewed once every ten years because if a certain kim wonpil was born on april, 28 1979, there’s no way he still looks twenty one in 2017.

still, sungjin thinks he needs to remind wonpil that he’s got the upper hand because; 1) he is wonpil’s only friend, 2) he is wonpil’s blood perpetrator, and,

“but my tiny little cross did.” he leers at wonpil, who scoffs, pouts, and then giggles.

about that. sungjin likes to assume that wonpil has been gone through the years without interacting with anyone, thus he’s always so fascinated with every little thing sungjin does.

sungjin glaring at him the first time he broke into sungjin’s apartment only to shriek so loud because of the crosses? he then acted as if sungjin gave him the moon after sungjin had taken out the ones on his living room. he giggled when sungjin making disgusted face at him when he went for a hug after sungjin made a deal with him, the cute cat’s whiskers around his eyes and cheeks were present for the first time and they’ve become a constant sight now that sungjin understands the longing on wonpil’s quiet staring and genuinely awestruck comments.

“what was your favorite food? if you can remember.” sungjin asks, slicing the last piece of tonkatsu into two.

“i did eat a lot of rice cake back then,” wonpil says, resting his chin on the table. “originally, i was from gangwon up north. it was always so cold over there. spicy soup was the best choice to get by.”

“you said you got turned when you were twenty one. so you were born in—“

“in 1876, i had an older sister.”

sungjin finishes his lunch. he puts the plastic containers in the white plastic bag with the expensive restaurant logo on it. he takes a sip of the hot caramel macchiato from the fancy thermos embroidered with his initial, also courtesy of wonpil from the nearest starbucks, one of wonpil’s many gifts for him, and asks, “correct me if i’m wrong. you didn’t wake up turning into a vampire, right? take ‘interview with the vampire’ for an example. tom cruise was attracted by brad pitt’s misery and when brad pitt was stabbed—am i right? anyway, when brad pitt was on the verge of death tom cruise turned him, promising him forever. how about you?”

wonpil sits up straighter. he crosses his skinny legs and arms and chews on his bottom lip, contemplating whether to answer sungjin’s –nth question or not. he knows about the list of questions on sungjin’s phone.

“would it be alright if i choose not to answer your question, sungjin-sshi?” wonpil says, scrunching his nose, and sungjin coughs because of the crestfallen look the vampire has on his ethereal face.

“sure! sure, i’m sorry.” he waves a hand in the air. “i’m really sorry.”

“no, please, no need to be sorry. i can tell you about my master, however.”

“yeah? where is he?”

[“ _’she’_ , and she’s dead.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EiTbq6uPLQ)

“s-sungjin-sonsaengnim?”

sungjin blinks to where dowoon is standing by the door; all bundled up in layers of sweaters, his favorite grey beanie, and a cotton mask that’s perched on his chin.

on his right hand, he’s clutching his phone like a lifeline.

“hi, dowoonnie.” sungjin greets the boy, overlooking how dowoon’s eyes keep darting off between him and wonpil or the apparent confusion and fleeting fear from his body language.

“are you lost?”

“n-no,” dowoon stutters, badly. “will y-you come with me, sonsaengnim?”

“oh.” sungjin raises his eyebrows and instantly gets to his feet. “alright. wonpil-sshi, i have to get going. thank you so much for today.”

wonpil, who’s been staring at dowoon with an undetermined look, turns to beam at sungjin. “my pleasure,” he chirps, “see you tomorrow?”

tomorrow is sungjin’s day off.

“only after i sleep for twelve hours,” sungjin says, winking at wonpil, and brings the plastic bag and the thermos with him. “i’ll message you, wonpil-sshi. see you.”

wonpil bids him goodbye. sungjin doesn’t make a comment on how dowoon holds onto his free hand tightly, literally dragging him off with little strength he has, as far away as possible from the north wing. must be the cold october wind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

ironically, sungjin dressed up as dracula on halloween. he took a few photos for wonpil, who asked to have one in particular; it had sungjin alone posing for the camera with his slicked back hair, mismatched white foundation (jimin’s), and the cheap dracula cloak he rented for the party tied on his neck. in the photo, sungjin was doing his signature creepy face; the whites of his eyes are taking up the space of his big eyes (wonpil’s and everybody else’s words, not his, but thanks, mom and dad)—and he’s smirking handsomely (at least brian and jimin said so).

if sungjin’s cheeks felt a little bit hotter at how wonpil had begged _and_ begged at him to print and frame it, it’s nobody’s business but his.

 

*

 

november is even colder.

upon first glance, wonpil lives in a very pretty, very pastel studio apartment at the heart of seoul; only five-minute walk to namsan tower with a bonus of spectacular night view.

sungjin is not surprised.

“i give payment in cash. the owner lives in new zealand, she never asks anything.” wonpil explains, noticing sungjin’s impressed whistle. he’s fidgeting on his pale, bare feet as he waits for sungjin to take off his shoes. this is nothing of importance, but sungjin finds wonpil’s skinny ankles pretty.

wonpil paged him at lunch, six hours ago, the message saying that he wants sungjin to come over because he’s trying his hands on cooking spaghetti carbonara for the first time and that sungjin should try it. sungjin, for the lack of better words, is a foodie. he _loves_ eating. to him, fried chicken are snacks. he’s not going to say no to free food, so he agreed.

the studio apartment is spacious, clearly bigger than sungjin’s. the interior is composed of white furnishing and one glaring grey sofa, pastel pink shag rug, and the entertainment set of 56-inch flat screen with impressive dolby home audio, a sophisticated DVD player (sungjin hasn’t seen one in a long time), playstation 4, nintendo Wii, and tons of books and magazines.

“let me guess,” sungjin says, plopping down next to wonpil on the plush, probably the most comfortable grey sofa ever, and he lets himself relax. he had gone home to have a shower and changed into his usual attire of white crew neck layered with black oversized pullover, a coat, and a pair of tech fleece pants. he feels underdressed with how wonpil is rocking those expensive looking maroon colored hoodie and cotton pants.

but, eh. doesn’t’ matter. sungjin is hungry. “because you paid in advance for, what, one year?” he says, finding wonpil sits with his skinny knees tucked under his chin and his cute, crossed eyes sparkling. he’s probably _high_ on vampire endorphin or something because it’s sungjin’s turn to visit him on his lair.

nonetheless, it’s a nice lair.

“your intelligence never fails to baffle me.” wonpil gushes, and sungjin snorts.

“heh.” he scratches his nape. it’s not itchy, but still. “um, do you know how to operate those gaming toys?”

“the world wide web is the best teacher.” wonpil giggles at his own joke, and then he offers, “would you like to play?”

sungjin shakes his head. “nah, thanks. too tired. can i eat now?”

“forgive me!” sungjin swears he's not exaggerating, but wonpil is _hopping_ like a bunny to the kitchen, coming back in cute patpatpat of his bare feet, his hands balancing a tray. the plate has flowery ornaments on it, the spoon and the fork are shiny.

they’re obviously brand new. wonpil doesn’t need to eat, remember?

“what would you like to drink? since i have no idea what is your preference, i purchased a lot of snacks and drinks for you. help yourself, it’s in my ref- _referee_ -re—“

“refrigerator,” sungjin smiles, “thanks. water is fine for now.”

wonpil hops again and sungjin waits until he’s back seated next to him before taking the first bite.

alas, sungjin puts too much faith in wonpil’s cooking.

“wow,” he tries his best to finish what’s in his mouth, but the more he chews, the stronger the taste is until his eyes are watering.

meanwhile, wonpil has his eyes widened in anticipation.

sungjin swallows. his throat is burning. the roof of his mouth is bitter just like when he first tasted the ink of his pen back in junior high after losing a dare.

“it’s salty.”

“oh, my!” wonpil grimaces, looking cute while doing it. he’s got his hands clasped together, the whiskers on his face are back. “is it, really? i wonder why.”

“because your palate is dead.” sungjin chuckles, putting down the fork.

“sungjin-sshi your words wound me so.”

sungjin snorts again, apologizes, and decides to revive the dish. wonpil happily trails along to the kitchen, where sungjin finds the scattered ingredients. apparently, he made quite a mess on his kitchen; empty plastic wrappers, mushroom stems, and dusts of salt and pepper. a pot of spaghetti carbonara awaits sungjin on the stove.

sungjin puts his serving to the pot, gets a new bottled water from a plastic bag, and pours just the right amount by instinct. he turns on the stove, wait for the water to simmer, and asks,

“you cooking me something is not, like, a vampire tradition when they want to turn someone, right?”

“park sungjin!” wonpil whines, taking a step back. he was hovering behind sungjin like a hungry kid watching his father preparing dinner. “if i wanted you to be my imperishable companion i would have looked you in the eyes and said so! like a real gentleman!”

sungjin, remembering that he’s got a handsome smirk, smirks and looks at wonpil _dead_ in the eyes, holding back his laughter. “well?”

wonpil crosses his arms. “well, _would_ _you?_ ”

sungjin grins. “no, sorry.”

“exactly.” wonpil rolls his eyes. “now, go on ahead. we are having ‘the lord of the rings’ movie marathon.”

“aye,” sungjin gives a salute. “do you have garlic?”

“if i had garlic i wouldn’t be here right now, sungjin-sshi.”

“cheeky.”

sungjin adds more cream, milk, salt and pepper, and cheese to the dish. kimchi would be great, but wonpil doesn’t have it. sungjin notices that there is no sponge and liquid dish soap on the sink and when he tells wonpil that, the vampire gasps, blinks, and pouts, obviously not happy with his slip. sungjin, after further associating the undead human to everything that is cute and smiley, reaches out to pinch wonpil’s chin. he pauses, thumb still pressed against wonpil’s smooth but cold skin, and wonpil does as well, but he recovers faster by declaring that sungjin’s framed photo is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

sungjin is sure if wonpil’s bloodstream works like any normal human being, _like his_ , for example, wonpil would have turned red by embarrassment.

but wonpil slapping one hand to his mouth is close enough.

“what? it’s in your bedroom? so you sleep in a bed like the rest of us.” sungjin is just relieved that he’s not the one feeling awkward right now. he takes a consolation on another episode of teasing the vampire.

wonpil blows the raspberry. he’s so cute, but maybe it’s just sungjin feeling tired and hungry. “that is unnecessary, sungjin-sshi. obviously, i sleep in a bed.”

“why not in a coffin?”

“it is 2017. my bed is of the latest technology.”

“amazing,” sungjin shakes his head, the never-ending fascination towards the vampire’s view of life is really, really overwhelming him in a good way. “but do you _need_ sleep?” he turns off the stove and stirs the spaghetti once more.

“i can choose to.”

“fair enough.” sungjin scoops the spaghetti to his flowery plate using the fork because wonpil doesn’t own tongs. “do you shower? wash and style your hair? your hair is always impeccable.”

“it comes with the package.” wonpil replies, in a teasing tone that’s similar to his older sister’s whenever she catches her toddler son doing something deadly cute.

sungjin laughs. that’s really amazing!

they get back to their respective spots on the grey sofa. wonpil is taking care of the movie while sungjin _inhales_ his dinner. it tastes way better. he kinda wants to have his second plate but wonpil got him choco pies in the refrigerator, so, maybe later.

this is sungjin’s fifth time watching ‘the lord of the rings: the fellowship of the ring’.

wonpil goes to his bedroom, bringing a teddy bear with him. sungjin successfully stops himself from commenting.

“have you ever met other supernatural beings before? are werewolves real? witches? psychic?” sungjin asks, licking his bottom lip.

“not that i can recall,” wonpil answers, eyes glued to the screen and teddy bear hugged tight to his chest.

“not even ghosts?”

“i cannot see ghosts, but their presence is not unbeknownst to me.” wonpil mumbles, smiling when merry and pippin are creating mischief with the firecrackers. “also, more often than not, i can tell when someone is dying.”

“oh, that’s.” _how do you cope with that?_ is what sungjin meant to ask, but he keeps it secured within himself.

“my master told a story when she met a werewolf in poland.”

“i’m listening.”

wonpil heaves the teddy bear to his left shoulder like he would a baby, and he rests his head against the soft plush. sungjin can’t take his eyes off him.

“it was well before my time, late fifteenth century if i am not mistaken. the man asked my master to end his misery. he was constantly on the run, when he was in his wolf’s form he could not contain his power or his hunger. he felt so guilty for attacking innocent villagers, unlike my master at that time.”

oh.

sungjin frowns. did wonpil just imply that his master killed innocent villagers without any remorse?

“what was she like? your master?” sungjin asks something safer instead.

“truly, she was the classic beauty. many suitors were interested to have her hand in marriage.” wonpil smiles, his face softens the more he speaks of his master. “she was nearly as tall as i, her features were sharp, sharp nose, big eyes, full mouth that never failed to smile like she held the secret of the universe. her eyes were very alluring. she had the kind of voice that made you want to listen to her talking for the longest time.

i was her only creation.”

sungjin gapes. “you are?”

“i was devastated when she died.”

“when was it?”

“she fell in love with a soldier during the korean war.”

“holy shit,” sungjin blurts out, and wonpil smiles at him in a cute shock. “sorry, but, please. i’m listening. what, then?”

“we… my master and i, we poised as sister and brother from a wealthy family. our house was up in the hill, quite hidden by plain sight. thing is, my master was never against being social. she went down to the market, blending in, taking trains just to pass the time. she always adapted so well with her ever-changing surrounding. she loved shopping. every once a week she would go to the cinema, also where she first met the north korean soldier.

before him, my master taught everything on how to survive. she was prone to killing humans back when the system wasn’t so advanced, but she managed to teach me not to feed too much, to stop before it was too late. do you know? i can make you do anything i want with just _one_ seemingly noncommittal look.”

“rest assured if you ever do that to me, i’d know,” sungjin says, hoping that his voice is not wavering, “and i’d cut all ties with you.”

“i am aware,” wonpil swallows, loud, sighs through his mouth, and says, “please don’t.”

“you have my words, wonpil-sshi.”

sungjin wonders if a vampire can shed tears, because wonpil looks like he’s going to cry anytime soon.

“do you feel?” sungjin asks after giving wonpil enough time to recover. he’ll ask about his master’s lover another time. “i mean, your heart, your brain, they’re not functioning.”

_you’re dead._

wonpil is whispering. “i do feel, sungjin-sshi, loneliness is draining what’s little left in you. i often thought about my mother and my sister, she was only a couple of years older, was studying to become a nurse.” he pauses. “i miss my family terribly even after all these years.”

“have you never visited your hometown?”

“not when my master was around. she prevented me to do so, it wasn’t ideal for a newly turned vampire to be attached to his old memories. i did, however, go back after she deceased. my house was no longer there, got burned during the japanese occupation. i found their graves, fortunate enough to be tended by my mother’s older brother. my sister died during the occupation, she did not have a chance to build a family.”

“i’m so sorry.”

wonpil shakes his head. “i paid a good sum of money to get my family’s photo albums, kept in the dark of my uncle’s attic. i believe he did not realize someone broke into his house just to steal them.”

sungjin can’t help it. he _laughs_. as absurd as he sounds, that’s just so _cute_ , if a bit melancholic and crazy. but, anything to get good memories back. he thinks he could understand wonpil’s longing. 120 years is a long time, after all.

“you’re _amazing_.” he says, trying to be as genuine as the vampire with his feelings, and wonpil smiles, his tongue in between his pearly white teeth.

they resume watching frodo and co. wonpil gets up to collect the plate, shushing sungjin’s protest. he rinses it with water, and then takes out the snacks and drinks from the refrigerator. wonpil flicks off the living room’s light, leaving only a sliver of it from the kitchen and the flat screen.

sungjin dives for the choco pie.

“is your appetite really gone?”

“aside from blood, then yes, i do not crave any kind of nourishment.”

“i hate to say this but you’re missing a lot. did you have ice cream in the 1890’s?”

wonpil whines. he narrows his eyes at sungjin like he just insulted the entire short existence of his human life.

“i worked at a bakery before, just across from an ice cream parlor. i was lucky enough to have the best, freshest ice cream back then. i watch a lot of TV, sungjin-sshi, the thing you call ice cream nowadays? it has too much artificial resources. not good.”

sungjin laughs and makes a show of glomping his second choco pie. he didn’t mean to rile up wonpil, but what can he do if that’s how wonpil reacts to his teasing?

wonpil picks up his odd intention and he pinches sungjin’s left arm. it hurts, but sungjin doesn’t say anything. wonpil had easily climbed, or jumped, to his apartment on the eleventh floor, waiting on the balcony to be let in by sungjin—if that, and his confession that he can _easily_ make sungjin do anything he wants with a single look doesn’t mean the vampire possesses some otherworldly power, then sungjin is an idiot.

sungjin is not an idiot. he keeps the pure silver twin crosses in his wallet, remember?

the movie is lulling sungjin to sleep.

“sungjin-sshi?” wonpil calls him, his fingers are cold on sungjin’s knee.

“yeah?” sungjin clears his throat, blinking back awake. wonpil is an inch closer to him on the sofa.

“if you’d kindly tell me about your friends?”

“ah,” sungjin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. did he drool? that’d be fucking hilarious. “what do you wanna know?”

wonpil says he _wants to know everything if it’s okay_ with a smile and who can resist such sight? not sungjin.

“let’s see,” sungjin grunts, wriggling on the sofa for a much better position. he stretches his legs, raises them on the diagonal empty space, and hugs a cushion. aragorn is meeting the elf princess at rivendell on the screen. “when i was young, back in busan, i was in a band with my classmates. we called the band ‘pink sweater’, because the keyboardist had a very ugly pink sweater that he proudly wore to school. soon we made the pink sweater our trademark; we would take turn wearing it whenever we performed on stage. we were pretty great, but we grew up. one is married, expecting his first baby. my closest friend from pink sweater is a music teacher, actually. he’s dowoon’s homeroom teacher. do you remember the kid from before?”

wonpil hums.

“i am quite fond of him.”

“who? dowoon?”

wonpil nods.

sungjin raises an eyebrow. “have you been visiting dowoon without my knowledge?” he feels that there’s something misleading with his sentence so he rephrases it. “i mean, sorry, please don’t take it the wrong way. have you been visiting dowoon?”

“the young lad reminds me of a friend of mine. anyway, please do continue.”

“anyway,” sungjin repeats what wonpil said, leaving out a tiny fact that wonpil pretends to be busy with the strings of his expensive looking maroon colored hoodie. “yeah, that’s the story of my childhood friends. in med school i dated a girl, a year older. we were together for… five years? she got married this summer. she invited me in person, but in the end i didn’t go.”

“i’m sorry.”

“nah, she was the best thing i’ve ever had. but if we were really meant to be together, we could have tried harder to make it work. none of us did. i’m glad she’s happy now.”

“are you positively sure she is?”

“i guess? i _hope_ she is. if she isn’t, well, what can i do about it?”

wonpil is silent, and sungjin nudges his elbow to the vampire’s side without sparing him a glance. he feels bad for making the vampire upset like this. “i’m alright, tho. work is keeping me busy. thanks for having me in your thought ha ha ha.”

wonpil, honest to god, is sniffing. his nose doesn’t sound wet, though, thankfully. still, sungjin is quite confused. wonpil wasn’t this distraught when he talked about his family and master. “you are a very good man, sungjin-sshi.”

“i dunno. i hope so,” sungjin shrugs, and tilts his head to look at wonpil, who, as always, is already looking at him. “thanks. you’re not so bad yourself.”

wonpil giggles, putting one hand to his cheek as if he’s swooning by sungjin’s acknowledgment. how _easy_ it is to make the vampire happy, huh?

“more.”

“more? you met jae and brian. there’s also this cute surgeon jimin, and the rest at the nurse station.”

“is jae the one tall gentleman with round glasses?”

“yeah.”

“ah.”

“what is it?”

“he seems intimidating.”

sungjin barks a laugh that startles wonpil and he closes his mouth, snorting, apologizing. “that’s because that hyung is a tsundere. don’t worry, he’s harmless. a nerd, really. brian, on the other hand, you’ll like him the most, i guess. he listens so well. i bet he’ll let you talk his ears off, even with your godforsaken aegyo.”

“i find my cutesy acts appealing.”

sungjin makes a face. “no, thanks.”

wonpil mimics it, completing the look of distaste with a cute scoff. “if only i didn’t find it difficult to regret anything that i do with you."

sungjin frowns. “now that’s just puzzling. i’ll pretend i didn’t hear that.” he smirks, and wonpil smiles, _cutely_. “can i eat all of these?”

“please do, it’s all for you.”

 

*

 

all the talk about friends and families had sungjin determined to do things that he’s been neglecting.

he slept on the sofa and as soon as he wakes up to the spectacular morning view of seoul, he decides to call his older sister. he goes out to the balcony because wonpil is still asleep, to video call his nephew, who recognizes him even after one year, and calls him ‘bob’, from his favorite cartoon ‘bob the builder’.

he calls his mom, and she screams at him to bring a nice girl the next time he comes home. his dad’s loud laugh is reverberating through the speakerphone, and sungjin shamelessly yells back _i miss you so much, aboji!_ —that makes his dad faking a vomiting sound.

sighing in satisfaction, the next thing he does is sending junghwan a message, asking him out for a drink later this evening, since it’s friday. he forgets that junghwan basically eats, sleeps, breathes with his phone; he gets a nice surprise because his phone pings with a new notification after exactly a minute. junghwan is still as expressive as ever, his stickers are a mix of shocked, angry, shocked, and smiling characters in that particular order. they agree to meet at hongdae, and junghwan says _You hit me up 0n the right time dude I want you 2 meet my friend!! Shes amazingg!_ —and when sungjin is giving him a green light, junghwan sends a voice note of him shrieking, all seven seconds of it.

(junghwan is right. she’s amazing, even better spread out underneath him in a nameless hotel bed.)

 

  

 

 

 

 

sungjin tried to date her, but the sex was only good the first few times. she’s not cute.

 

*

 

“name one thing you’ve never done.”

“i am extremely afraid of flying.”

“what? is it the height? but we’re in a ferris wheel now.”

wonpil shakes his head. he’s looking over seoul at night, the soft neon lights are reflecting on his smooth, pale skin, casting a melancholic glow that probably only looks exquisite because of what he is.

“i could be anywhere, fake passport is never an issue,” wonpil scrunches his nose and turns to face sungjin again. “i believe we can take airplane to busan, your hometown? perhaps we can go sometime, sungjin-sshi, if it’s all right with you.”

“heh,” sungjin puffs, “i mean.” he frowns, not liking how flabbergasted he’s become at such inoffensive remark. wonpil doesn’t seem to catch his personal struggle and mumbles,

“i haven’t had my way with anyone.”

holy shit.

sungjin is blushing. he knows he is. the 1890s, huh? isn’t it not uncommon for male and female to stay celibate until they’re married anyway? sungjin was never clever in history class, but, uhhh. wow.

he clears his throat, “it’s fine? it didn’t make you less than the rest of us.”

wonpil crosses his arms. tonight he’s wearing pinstriped navy and white long-sleeved shirt, topped with a black long coat, a pair of slim-fit black trousers, and black oxford shoes. he asks, “how does it feel holding a woman’s body and making love to it?”

sungjin is screaming, and instantly feeling bad about it. he apologizes, his flailing arms are everywhere, and wonpil is laughing at him.

“i’m sorry! it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable!” wonpil giggles, reaching out to put his hands on sungjin’s knees. he’s sitting on the edge of his seat, his hands are cold, and sungjin feels like flinging himself off the car when he glances at the artificial pink hue of wonpil’s lips.

“i was merely curious,” wonpil says in a gentler tone, knowing that the topic is stupidly making sungjin act like a virgin schoolboy. “neither have i kissed anyone when i was alive, sungjin-sshi.”

 _oh_.

maybe it’s the gentle way his name is pronounced. or, if sungjin is being honest, maybe it’s the vampire himself; cute, with fashion sense that will put jaehyung to shame, and the underlying purity from everything he is. sungjin takes wonpil’s cold wrist, squeezing his thumb against the non-beating pulse, and pulls until wonpil stumbles, swaying their car, to his lap; one knee on the seat and the other digging to sungjin’s thigh.

wonpil doesn’t smell like anything, but his lips taste like cherry when sungjin flicks his tongue on wonpil’s closed lips. wonpil makes a questioning sound, sighs, and opens his lips obediently. he puts one arm around sungjin’s broad shoulders, pressing a little bit until he’s fully sitting on sungjin’s lap, and when he tilts his head, sungjin deepens the kiss.

wonpil’s everything is _cold_. his skin. his lips. his hands. sungjin shivers when his tongue meets wonpil’s cold one, and his whole body jerks _alive_ with something akin to suppressed arousal as wonpil’s sharp fangs prick his bottom lip. 

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

the first snow falls in december, and so does dowoon’s health.

dowoon was just a sixteen year old high school freshman when he started feeling fatigued for no reason. he lost colors, quick, and he thought because he was going through puberty, so did his weight. when he fainted during gym class for the third time in a span of forty days, junghwan reported the worrying occurrence to his parents. they took dowoon to the hospital and after a series of tests, they found out that dowoon is suffering from high risk type of leukemia.

dowoon celebrated his eighteenth birthday on late august. junghwan and dowoon’s first year classmates came over, bringing cake, gifts, and making tearful promises for dowoon to get healthy soon so they all can graduate together.

but cancer is cruel. dowoon has been in treatment for twenty six months. sungjin, jaehyung, and brian aren’t specializing in oncology, but they understand from taecyeon-sunbaenim that dowoon’s body has been showing signs of rejecting chemotherapy medications; and that his family doesn’t have enough money to pursue radiation.

death isn’t unusual when you’re working at the hospital, every kid with a serious illness is a ticking bomb, something that brian really should consider _seriously_. it’s affecting his work as he uses his breaks to visit dowoon, only to come back to the station looking dejected, bringing up updates about dowoon’s deteriorating health.

today, he tells their group that according to taecyeon-sunbaenim, dowoon will be here to welcome 2018, but that’s basically it.

“your friend’s there, sungjin-hyung.” brian says in a small voice, picking at his egg rolls. his eyes are hollowed, void of the positive light that’s usually there. they first met dowoon on the monthly volunteer event at the cancer ward, three months into his chemotherapy session. the teenager was one of the bigger kids, towering over others even sitting hunched on the tiny wooden chair, his voice cracking when he shyly introduced himself, his ears reddening. for his future dream; dowoon drew a set of drum and himself sitting on a high chair with the word ‘president of our country’ written there, explaining that he wanted to be a cool drummer or a president.

he still had a bit of baby fat when he smiled back then. his cheeks were round and full.

“who? where?” sungjin asks, swallowing his organic brown rice with difficulty. in the back of his mind he can hear a faint tick tock tick tock as if it’s mocking their collective grief.

“your cute friend? crossed eyes? he got there even before i visited. seems like he knows mrs. yoon well.”

an unpleasant chill is running through sungjin’s spine as he sits there in the staff’s cafeteria. the conversations and clinging chopsticks are keeping him in tact that he, indeed, is still breathing but the sun that directly hits his skin doesn’t give him warmth.

_i am quite fond of him._

what the fuck.

“bro, are you okay?” jaehyung asks, clearing his throat. “you look sick.”

what the _fucking_ fuck.

sungjin looks up to find a matching worried look from jimin and brian in front of him, and he gets up, making noises as his chair skidded against the floor, blinking back black dots on his vision as the room is spinning before him.

“i gotta go.” he whispers to no one in particular.

“can’t it wait? finish your lunch first,” jaehyung says, tugging at the hem of sungjin’s winnie the pooh scrubs.

but sungjin shakes his head, mumbles a lie about bathroom, and his legs are already running. he climbs the escalator because he can’t bear waiting for the goddamned slow elevators to arrive. he goes straight to room 303.

“ _where’s mrs. yoon?_ ” and if he sounds hysteric, that’s because he is.

wonpil turns his head. he was way too fucking close to dowoon’s sleeping form. “hello to you too, sungjin-sshi,” he greets sungjin with a smile, leaning back against the chair, his expensive coat is the color of the earth. his immaculate black hair is shining. the sun does him no harm. “mrs. yoon is out to have lunch.”

“on her own will or _yours?_ ” sungjin spats, heaving, a little bit too loud.

wonpil frowns. he just out his bottom lip and asks, genuinely wondering, “why does it matter? please refrain from yelling, dowoon has just fallen asleep.”

it’s irrational, to be this angry. sungjin’s whole body feels cold but his head is fuming, and it’s really hard to breathe right now.

he points a finger at wonpil, his nails are hurting his palm. his shoulders are tensed. his throat is burning. “whatever you’re thinking you’re going to do, i swear to god, _don’t_.”

“why?” wonpil blinks, tilting his head. “the child knows what i am.”

“exactly! he’s a child! he’s not capable to think for himself!” sungjin halts. he recoils like wonpil delivers a literal punch to his face. “ _what?_ what did you just say?”

“you heard me the first time.”

sungjin _was_ so sure wonpil is not the same as any other vampire he has encountered through movies and popular culture; the 120 years old undead human doesn’t have a single wicked potential whatsoever.

but he’s got greed, and he’s selfish.

sungjin doesn’t seem to be functioning well upon hearing the confirmation wonpil just told him. i am quite fond of him my fucking ass, more like he’s seeking a _lifetime_ _pet_ to dote on for eternity!

wonpil has the audacity to fucking sigh like sungjin not sharing the sentiment with him is the stupidest thing sungjin has ever done as his friend.

“i am helping him out of his misery, sungjin-sshi, the child deserves better than wasting away in a hospital. he said he wants to travel the world, wants to see the savanna, the aurora borealis, the hobbit’s hobbiton. i am giving what he wants. i can help him.”

“it’s not up to you!”

“yet you can’t stop me, sungjin-sshi.”

sungjin, bewildered and indeed feeling stupid beyond his ability to grasp the situation—he gets flashes of everything from the blood dripping on wonpil’s lips, chin, throat, the dip of his neck and the crisp white shirt to wonpil’s small silhouette on his balcony and wonpil’s cute whiskers around his eyes and cheeks and his genuine compliments about how sungjin is a good man—laughs.

he doesn’t sound like himself. he sounds _lunatic_.

 _but you said you’re extremely afraid of flying!_ is left unsaid.

“i can, and i will.” sungjin glares at wonpil, believing that human, himself, will always rise above others—supernatural being or not—because he’s got brain and he can think clearly.

except that suddenly, the temperature drops. if sungjin felt cold before, it’s freezing in the room now; chilling him to the bone. wonpil’s eyes are glinting, shining bright yellow just like the first time sungjin caught him in the blood storage room.

all running strategies in sungjin’s head that include taking out his pure silver twin crosses from his wallet right this second and contacting a priest, a pastor, or someone higher from a temple or a church and killing wonpil himself with a stake to his useless hea—they all _vanish_ in one blink of an eye. sungjin coughs, feeling the energy and his will to do anything, to breathe, to be mad at wonpil, they’re just gone without a trace, leaving him standing empty like paper doll in the middle of room 303.

“no, you will never do those things. you are to come back to your friends, smiling and looking proper. you will enjoy the rest of the day and have a good rest later. i loathe doing this to you, i adore you terribly, but you did not want to be by my side. allow me to have just this, sungjin-sshi. i only wish for a best friend forever.”

 

*

 

sungjin refuses to believe that he’s helpless.

yesterday, when dowoon and his mother went to the treatment room on the first floor, he put up crosses at every corner of room 303. he waited for them to explain to mrs. yoon that it’s a mandatory hospital thing to do, even if their family is not religious.

dowoon didn’t like it. _the child knows what i am._ he threw a tantrum to his mother, and sungjin felt like crying himself because he just didn’t want a life being robbed right under his watch _easily_ like this.

jaehyung and brian notice his dark aura, whatever it is. they say he looks like he’s ready to commit a manslaughter, telling him to take it easy, actively dragging him to social functions with jackson, even taking him shopping and getting him a new haircut.

none of that helps.

his vampire-only-pager has stopped beeping.

he purchases a great amount of pure silvers at the flea market, specifically requesting to the seller to cut them in pieces. he learns dowoon’s schedule so he can get into room 303 and putting the pure silver bars in places that no one will find.

a day after brian’s birthday, dowoon tells his mother to get sungjin and she does, closing the door to room 303 as she handles some paperwork since dowoon will stay at home starting from christmas.

dowoon is lying in his bed, the tiny flat screen is showing running man. he’s just skin and bones, wearing his favorite grey beanie to hide his balding patches. but he’s smiling behind his white mask. his frail wrists and arms are decorated in fading black and blue blood cots from previous IV injections. he’s sickly pale.

sungjin croaks out a hello, sitting on the same chair wonpil did, and dowoon asks without any preamble,

“sonsaengnim, did you put silvers here? wonpil-hyung can’t get in.”

sungjin is thisclose to burst into tears hearing that. _hyung_. it might be way too late already.

“dowoon-ah, do you understand what he is?” he asks instead, looking at the pile of jaehyung’s comic books and wonpil's teddy bear on the dresser.

_jesus christ._

“yes.” dowoon nods.

“that’s good, but do you _understand_ how dangerous he is?”

“wonpil-hyung is not dangerous. he’s promised me forever.” dowoon is frowning, like he can’t understand the concept of wonpil _and_ dangerous in one sentence.

before sungjin can babble about how it’s not a good idea for dowoon to succumb to what he thinks he knows, dowoon continues, his voice is small but full of determination.

“do you remember when i found you and wonpil-hyung at the north wing? i had thought it’d be fun to capture your little picnic date because i heard brian and jae-sonsaengnim talking about your ‘new friend’ before. but when i aimed my phone to you guys, wonpil-hyung didn’t appear on the screen. i took a photo and a five second video, they’re still in my phone. he was never there at all. remember i asked you to come with me? i was so scared for _you_ , i wondered if you _knew_. i googled about ghosts, but turned out wonpil-hyung is a vampire. i learned that his reflection doesn’t appear on mirrors and cameras can’t capture him. a couple of days later when mom was out to have dinner, he asked to be let in from the window. he was just hanging there, beckoning at me. i already knew that a vampire needs permission to be let in, and i let him in.”

dowoon sniffs.

“he’s so funny. he speaks like in historical drama mom likes to watch every weekend. it’s so fascinating to listen to him, i love his stories. he’s a great storyteller. he was a mess when mom came back to the room because she forgot her wallet, but she’s instantly charmed because wonpil-hyung is just too cute.”

the hairs on the back of sungjin’s neck are standing up.

 _do you know? i can make you do anything i want with just_ one _seemingly noncommittal look._

“i want forever, sonsaengnim. i’ve had enough of _this_.” dowoon points at himself with disgust. “if i get to live until the end of the world looking like i was before all _this_ , even if i can’t enjoy my favorite banana milk for the rest of my forever, i’ll take the chance. i’ll be able to play drum without worrying about overexerting myself. i don’t want to be hurt anymore, i want to say fuck you to cancer when i get to be born again as a vampire this time.”

sungjin is crying.

he knows how cruel cancer is. he lost his good friend, the pink sweater’s keyboardist, to cancer, just two years after they formed the band. it was one of the reasons that drove him to pursue medication.

his tears are hot on his face, flowing freely and soaking his own surgical mask, down and down to his neck. his head hurts.

“b-but w-what about your family?” he blubbers like a baby, and dowoon sighs like sungjin just asked something someone had said he would ask. his eyes are tearing up.

“he likes you a lot, you know?” dowoon puts his small hand on top of sungjin’s trembling fists. “wonpil-hyung likes you. said you are a very good man. he told me you would ask about this, sonsaengnim. but i’m sure my family would want me to have everything. they’ve done so much for me. i… i will be dead, anyway, in a way. why not making the best out of it?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the end, time does heal.

on his twenty ninth birthday, sungjin thinks of death and what comes after. nothing, of course, comes after. so he eats the carrot cake jimin made and kisses her cheek. he wears the coat and the wool scarf from jaehyung and brian, and quite an expensive watch from the pediatric department.

sungjin crashes over at brian’s place for two months, stays there for four months, and gets a call from a private hospital on jung district in the summer. it’s in his hometown busan, and he takes the job, sobbing while getting drunk in front of jaehyung, brian, jimin, and other colleagues the night of his farewell party.

he gets a two weeks off before officially starting as one of the pediatricians, and after securing a small apartment just a walking distance from the private hospital, he spends time with his family. his father owns a medium-scale fishery, employing ten fishermen and supplying the freshly caught fish to mostly foreign restaurants. every morning at dawn, sungjin helps driving the crated goods to said foreign restaurants, introducing himself as mr. park’s son.

he babysits his nephew, teaching him how to count and the alphabets. singing to him in english and cooking him lunch, taking him to play at the park and getting mistaken often enough as the dad. the ache within him is gone, more or less, even though he still cries himself to sleep sometimes.

the private hospital is run by a non-profit organization, the owner is a heiress in her mid-thirty, very shy, and sungjin finds himself as the object of overly-friendly staffs playing cupid. it’s nice to entertain them, miss choi is smart and proper, and her homemade chocolate chips cookies are really delicious.

on august 25, sungjin gets a postcard from aberdeen, scotland, signed with nothing but two initials he remembers by heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
